


Depends

by Scrunyuns



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic, Pure Unadulterated Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:49:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunyuns/pseuds/Scrunyuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrench doesn't usually wear his heart on his sleeve when he's with him like this, after all it's supposed to be a casual thing - but one night he slips up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Depends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mintywrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintywrites/gifts).



> For those of you who don't know this: Hold you hand up, open-palmed. Stick your thumb out. Keep your index finger and pinky straight, but bend your middle and ring finger. Congratulations! You are now saying 'I love you' in ASL :-)
> 
> Response to a prompt from mintywrites. Hope you like it, hon!

You'd think it would be inconvenient for them to have sex with the lights off, but Numbers loves it. There's a certain allure to relying solely on touch. It's an exercise in trust.

Wrench will use his fingers to write whatever needs to be said on his partner's skin - and sometimes things that _don't_ need to be said, like 'Who's your daddy?' He likes to make Numbers laugh, to put his hand to his partner's stomach and feel the spasms of that lovely, deep belly laugh coursing through his body.

Wrench doesn't usually wear his heart on his sleeve when he's with him like this, after all it's supposed to be a casual thing - but one night he slips up.

Numbers is lying on his back, enjoying the sensation of Wrench's mouth on his throat, when he feels his partner's hand forming a sign against his chest; thumb sticking out, index finger and pinky straight, the middle and ring finger bent. It's only there for a split second, as Wrench catches himself almost immediately and tries to distract him with a kiss. Numbers isn't easily fooled, though.

He remembers asking about it once, just out of curiosity. When his partner had shown him, he'd asked _Isn't that metal? Like heavy metal? You know._ And then he'd imitated a metalhead, making the sign along with a crazy face and headbanging until he got a sharp pain in his neck and had to stop. Wrench was roaring with laughter. It was the first time Numbers had heard him laugh out loud, so he'll never forget it, not in a million years.

He knows what that sign means, alright. What it means for them, however, he can't say.

After Wrench has fucked Numbers' brains out spectacularly, in a last ditch effort to divert his partner's attention from the fact that he's spilled the beans, they lie together in complete darkness. They're both agonizing over it, neither of them daring to touch the other for fear of what that might imply under the current circumstances.

Numbers goes over it in his head again and again; _Had Wrench really meant to say that? Was it supposed to be a joke?_ He hasn't really had the time nor the energy for ongoing relationships - sexual or otherwise - since the early nineties, so he's pretty rusty. _Have the rules changed?_ he ponders. _Maybe it's just something that the kids do nowadays, something they blurt out during sex without any critical thought behind it_. Wrench is, after all, over a decade younger than him. Numbers is afraid to ask.

Wrench hadn't meant to say it, but he had meant it. It has been at the back of his mind for years, way before they started fucking, ever since Numbers had told him he was learning ASL. He'd gotten that weird feeling in his stomach and at first he wasn't sure what it was, but he had his suspicions, so he'd asked his brother. Hammer had laughed heartily and signed, _Holy crap, aren't you a late bloomer! How old are you? Twelve?_ Then he'd proceeded to ask who the lucky girl was, and that had been the end of the conversation.

Wrench doesn't ever want to turn on the light. If he has to live like a vampire for the rest of his days, well, so be it. He's not entirely sure if his partner even noticed, but he doesn't want to find out. The thought of what Numbers might say... _He probably won't say anything, he'll just have a freak out and take off._ Wrench had really hoped that the mindblowing sex he's just treated him to would be enough to make him forget about the slip-up, but now Numbers isn't touching him and that can't possibly be a good sign. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,_ he repeats to himself. _I've put my big, stupid foot in it now._

Numbers is debating with himself about whether or not he should bring it up or just pretend nothing happened, when he hears a sniffle.

Blinding light floods the room as he flicks the lightswitch.

 _Are you crying?_ Numbers signs to his partner.

 _What?_ Wrench signs back as he sits up, squinting.

_I heard you sniffling._

_Allergies._

Numbers narrows his eyes at him. This is one of the things about Wrench that infuriates him the most; that childish, adamant denial of his own humanity. It's presumably a side-effect of his rough childhood, and Numbers would gladly brush it off if it wasn't for the fact that they've known each other for years, they've been fucking for months, and by now Wrench should really be comfortable enough with him to not bullshit him like that.

 _You know it's pollen season!_ Wrench insists.

Numbers stares him down with that look reserved for naughty, lying boys named Wrench.

_Fine, I cried. A little. Just don't tell Letters, she'll call me a pussy._

_I won't if you tell me what's wrong._

_You know what's wrong._

_I might,_ Numbers signs. _But I need you to tell me, so I can know for sure._

Wrench is usually the confrontational one of the two, but now it seems that Numbers has decided to take on the role of Mr. Sensitive. _Goddamn._ Wrench sighs and flops back on the bed, running his hands over his face.

He soon feels the bed dipping beside him. Numbers crawls over and straddles his hips, trying to get his attention. When he jabs him in the side with his finger, _hard_ , Wrench has no other option but to stop igorning him.

 _Hey,_ Numbers signs. _Was it this?_

His fingers spread out like a fan. Then slowly, slowly, as a wicked grin grows on his face, his middle and ring finger curl. _What a fucking tease._

Wrench nods gravely, and Numbers throws his arms out.

 _Well, did you mean it?_ he asks.

 _Depends,_ Wrench signs. _Do you_ want _me to mean it?_

Numbers punches him in the shoulder.

_I want you to tell me the truth, you fucking manchild! So, do you love me or not?_

_I don't_ not _love you._

Numbers can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Wrench might be young, sure, but this is some grade A middle school shit and Numbers is too old for it. He was too old for it in middle school, even.

_So you're saying that you love me._

He looks impatient, clearly starting to get annoyed, but Wrench still can't bring himself to admit it.

 _I'm not_ not _saying that,_ he signs.

"Okay. You know what? I don't have time for this," Numbers says, getting off him and heading for the door.

As he's scooping up his clothes, all scattered across the floor of Wrench's apartment, his partner comes up behind him.

 _Don't go,_ Wrench signs, but Numbers is too busy angrily dressing himself to notice.

"I love you," he tries.

He's got no way of knowing whether or not the words came out right (or at all) but they must have been intelligible enough, because Numbers finally turns, eyes and mouth wide open.

"I didn't know you could talk."

Wrench rolls his eyes. On the whole, Numbers is more understanding and accommodating of his disability than most, but even he can be a clueless fuck sometimes.

 _Of course I can talk, moron,_ Wrench signs, frowning. _I've got a voice don't I? I just choose not to, because I'm shit at it._

Numbers nods in understanding, still looking slightly shellshocked and more than a little sheepish, standing there with his pants around his ankles.

 _So,_ Wrench signs, _did you hear what you wanted to hear, you needy little shit?_

"Yeah..."

_And? Did I fuck everything up?_

"No..."

 _Good,_ he signs with a sigh of relief. _So are you going to say is back or just leave me hanging?_

 _Depends,_ Numbers replies. _Do you_ want _me to say it back?_

The wry little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth is not lost on Wrench.

 _Fuck you, and fuck your sarcasm,_ he signs and pulls his partner in for a hug.

He can't help but grin like an idiot when he feels Numbers' hand sliding up his back; thumb sticking out, index finger and pinky straight, middle and ring finger slowly bending.


End file.
